


Seeing Red

by Domokoru



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Eating vomit, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Fucking, First Time, Forced, Forced Prostitution, Hate Sex, LMAO, Lies, Loss of Virginity, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unsanitary, Vomiting, and then they fuck lol, descole pretending to be desmond, emmeline pretending to be emmy, italic abuse, no betas we die like men, sex slave... kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domokoru/pseuds/Domokoru
Summary: What if before becoming Layton's assistant, Emmy worked under Descole?~~~~~~~Spoilers for the entire second trilogy of the series.
Relationships: Emmy Altava & Leon Bronev, Emmy Altava/Desmond Sycamore, Jean Descole/Emmeline Altava, technically - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	1. Assisting

**Author's Note:**

> Emmy being Descole's assistant sounds like a neat idea for an AU, but I ship them so this is mostly gonna be porn.
> 
> Oopsie!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emmy reluctantly takes on a different type of mission.

"You want me to _what?_ " The brunette's shock echoed around the decrepit warehouse, making the rest of the crowd jump in surprise. The London sector of Targent, one of the largest outside of The Nest, was having a tactical meeting in an abandoned building along the coast of the Thames. This differed from the usual conclaves in that today's meeting was graced by the presence of their leader, Leon Bronev, and his honorary niece, Emmeline "Emmy" Altava.

"Emmeline, you know as well as I that we're running out of options here!" Bronev responded through gritted teeth, trying remain calm in front of the girl and his crew. "We've tried time and time again, yet we still haven't gotten what we need from that man!" He slammed a worn magazine onto the cold metal table in front of him. Adorning the cover was a bespectacled man in a suit. Emmy vaguely knew his face, from sitting in on previous meetings. Something about how he was the current authority on the history of the Azran civilization. "We have used every, and I mean _every_ plan of attack, yet he still refuses to join Targent and keeps evading us."

"Yes, but an _assistant?_ When have I ever assisted _anybody,_ Uncle Leon?" She griped. "Isn't there something else you could have me do? Something more... fun?" _Something more violent._ Emmy had been trained from childhood to be a fighter, and she never intended on doing anything else.

"You'll be assisting _me_ if you do this." Bronev put a hand on her shoulder. "Look here, you're the only one I can rely on to carry this out. You're our secret weapon." Bronev smirked. "Those guys?" He motioned at the other Targent members in the meeting. "They all look like they're up to no good." Offended murmurs washed through the crowd at his comment. "Nobody would ever expect you to be a mole."

Emmy stayed silent, staring at her feet as she contemplated it. It wasn't as if she could refuse anyway.

"Ugh, fine." She huffed and crossed her arms. "What do you need me to do?"

"We need Sycamore's research notes on the Azran, and any artifacts he may have lying around." Bronev let go of her shoulder. "I believe he's come to expect us trying to get at his files, so you'll most likely need to earn his trust as an academic assistant to gain access to them."

"Alright."

"Good. We'll prepare your supplies after the meeting so you can begin as soon as possible." Bronev turned his gaze back at the rest of his audience. "As I was saying..." Emmy sat back in her seat at his side behind the "podium" of shipping containers, dreading her assignment.

* * *

After the meeting adjourned, Emmy and Bronev started to pack her things and go over a basic outline of the plan.

"Here." Bronev brought out a bright, lemon-colored dress, white leggings, and mossy green boots. "I had this made for you. It resembles the usual uniform enough that other agents will know not to mess with you, but the colors are different enough that the average bystander wouldn't notice." The girl frowned at the neon hue.

"Great. Everyone will be able to see me coming from miles away." Emmy muttered under her breath. Bronev also dug out a small camera and thrust it into her hands by the strap it hung by.

"If you see anything of interest, document it with this."

"Fine."

Bronev looked around to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

"That should be everything. I know it's not the most exciting mission, but I'm counting on you to get this intel. It's of the utmost importance." Bronev patted his niece-in-name's shoulder again.

"I know, Uncle Leon." Emmy sighed before meeting his gaze with confidence. "You can leave it to me."

"Don't I know it!" Bronev roared with laughter. "It should be very simple. I've been a formal researcher back in my day, and I know nobody in their right mind would turn down an assistant like you."

* * *

"I don't need an assistant." Sycamore said flatly.

"Huh!?" Emmy exclaimed from behind him.

"I said, _I don't need an assistant._ " The man responded, turning his chair to face her.

For the past couple of years, Desmond Sycamore had been preparing to act against Targent, an archeological agency that often reported to brutal tactics in the name of scientific discovery. He'd been donning a mask and calling himself Jean Descole as of late to remain anonymous as he broke into their headquarters for information to use against them in the future. While he maintained his appearance as Sycamore to keep grant money rolling in to fund his scheming, mentally he was one-hundred percent Descole.

He'd been drawing out blueprints for an excavating machine when a girl in yellow had so rudely interrupted him, bursting into his office at Gressenheller University without so much as a knock.

"But I _need_ this job!" She pleaded. "Please, I'll do anything!"

Sycamore stood up from his desk and turned to her, looking her up and down.

"...Why?" He folded his arms, still squinting at her. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Her clothing? Her face?

"I need to assist a researcher for a class assignment." Emmy lied.

"If that's the case, I have plenty of colleagues I could send you to. They'd appreciate a second set of hands."

" _No!_ " She shouted. "I mean, it has to be you!" Sycamore's eyes narrowed again.

"Why?" He noticed her eyes darting away after repeating himself.

"I promised my professor I could work with _the_ Professor Sycamore." Emmy was beginning to struggle at keeping a believable narrative, but she couldn't let Uncle Leon down on such an important mission. All she could do was hope beyond hope that the archeologist would take the bait.

"Without asking me? I don't even know who you are."

"Oh! Emmy Altava, at your service!" Emmy held out her hand to shake his. Sycamore looked at her outstretched hand and promptly ignored it. She slowly lowered her arm again, his expression telling her she wouldn't be getting a handshake.

Giving her a final once-over, Sycamore realized why she looked familiar. For one, her clothing was the spitting image of the Targent uniform, albeit with some tweaks to look less suspicious. More notably, he'd seen her face in files he'd dug through before. He didn't know much beyond her being labeled "Bronev's honorary niece" and "secret weapon", but that was more than enough information.

 _This is the best those fools can do?_ Sycamore thought to himself. At this point, he'd become accustomed to Targent's regular attempts to steal his Azran research, and he was shocked if not a bit offended Bronev would think he'd fall for a plan so trite. At least it was proof they didn't know he was the masked man stealing their documents, otherwise they undoubtedly would've approached from a different angle.

A sinister plan was beginning to form in his mind. The root of his anger was personal in every way, with all of the sharp, gnarled branches aimed squarely at Leon Bronev. What better way to get vengeance for his family than ruining this girl, the closest thing Bronev had to family?

"Fine. I can see how persistent you are." Sycamore attempted a smile, but it didn't manage to cover up his glare. "You did say you'd be willing to do _anything,_ right? I believe I may have a job for you."

"Yep, anything!" Emmy's eyes widened in excitement. "You really mean it?" She'd finally made him crack!

"Oh yes. I can pay you well, too." Sycamore absently stuffed his blueprints into a drawer as he talked. "I tend to travel a lot for my research, so I'm currently residing in an airship. I'm willing to offer you room and board along with your base pay. That is," he peeked out of the corner of his eye, "if you're up for it."

"Yes, of course! That sounds fantastic!" Emmy exclaimed. Traveling the world, free room and board, _and_ extra pay on top of it all? This boring mission was starting to look up for her.

"All right." Sycamore started gathering his things to leave his office for the day. "Bring your things and meet me at the London Aerodrome tomorrow promptly at ten. I'll make the necessary preparations tonight." Emmy nodded. "See you then, Miss Altava."

"Oh, you don't need to be so formal! You can just call me Emmy!" Emmy laughed. Sycamore sniffed apathetically in response.

"I'll keep that in mind, Miss Altava." The man said as he waved her away, motioning for her to leave. Among other things, he'd be investing in more advanced safes before she moved in. Not that he'd especially need them, as he planned to make the girl want to quit as soon as she had begun.


	2. One Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmy's first day of work.

The following day was stormy, with the sunlight only peeking through the tiniest gaps the rain clouds left behind. The wind was strong enough to make Emmy's sodden hair blow into her eyes as she stood with her suitcase in the aerodrome.

"Good to see you've made it." Sycamore walked up with a large umbrella. Though he smiled as he spoke, his eyes remained emotionless and cold. "Get under here. We have a ways to walk yet." The man motioned at her to come under the umbrella with him.

"Gee, thanks, Professor!" Emmy was a bit surprised at his kind gesture. For what she'd seen so far, it seemed out of character.

"What good would it do me to have my assistant catch cold on the first day of work?" Sycamore replied bluntly.

 _Ah. Should've expected something like that._ Emmy thought to herself.

"It's just up ahead." Breaking the horizon was a large, fiery red airship with a blimp-like apparatus on top. The rain pounding on the fabric made it sound like thunder. "I call it the Bostonius."

"Cool..." Emmy had seen and ridden in plenty of airships in the past, but this design looked nothing like Targent's fleet. This vessel was bright, tiny, and ninety percent blimp. It almost looked cute and cozy, which completely contrasted her image of the uncomfortably prickly man leading her up its steps.

"Shoes off." Sycamore wedged his loafers off with a shoehorn in the entryway of the ship. "With all the time I have to spend here, I try to keep the ship a bit homey, and that includes carpeting." Emmy followed suit while Sycamore shook the rain off the umbrella just outside.

"Welcome back, Master." A new voice sounded from inside. "And hello, Miss Altava. Master's told me about you." A mustachioed older man, short in stature, stood in the living quarters just past the entryway.

"This is Raymond." Sycamore answered Emmy's question before she had the opportunity to ask it. "He's been working under me for several years now as a butler. He takes care of cooking, cleaning, supplies, repairs, and even piloting the Bostonius at times."

"Nice to meet you." Emmy looked back at Sycamore. "With all that, I can see why you didn't need an assistant, but what does that leave for me to do...?" Emmy laughed awkwardly to mask her utter confusion.

"All in due time, Miss Altava." Sycamore said, avoiding her question. "Raymond, I'm going to show the young lady around. In the meantime, can you go make sure the fuel and internal pressure are suitable for takeoff?"

"Of course, Master." The older man slowly headed for a door opposite them.

As the butler left from view, Sycamore led Emmy down a small staircase. The stairs led to a long hallway lined with doors. The floor was carpeted again, complementing the subtly striped wallpaper. It made the ship almost look like a hotel.

 _This ship is_ way _bigger on the inside._ Emmy thought to herself as her new employer gestured to the first door on the right.

"This will be your room. My study is across the way, along with my bedroom and several others." Sycamore saw Emmy's eyes widen at that. "There isn't anyone else aboard besides the three of us. The rooms are currently being used for storage." He gestured farther down. "The bathroom and laundry room are at the end of the hall. Lastly, the kitchen is upstairs past the living room area. Any questions?"

"Yeah, what's my job supposed to be?" Emmy asked for the umpteenth time.

"Ah, almost forgot." The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pager. "Here, keep this." Sycamore placed it into her free hand. "It's a bit frivolous, but I'd prefer not to yell for you from across the ship." Emmy blinked at it, annoyed that he'd dodged her question again. "You best unpack in your room. I'll page you if I need assistance."

"All right..." Emmy started to say, but the man was already heading to his study. Every time he avoided giving her a job description, the pit at the bottom of the girl's stomach grew larger. Nevertheless, she had to do this, for Targent and for Uncle Leon.

* * *

Professor Sycamore sat at the desk in his study, waiting for Emmy to arrive at the behest of the pager. Sure enough, she inched open the door while holding the flashing, buzzing device. The Bostonius had already made liftoff, and the girl was still getting used to walking around in the moving airship, almost stumbling as she entered.

"Good. I'm glad to see that it works." Sycamore clicked off his end of the device and the lights dimmed off. "I know it's only been an hour or so, but I realized I'd forgotten to finalize some of your paperwork." The man pulled out a clipboard and pen. "It'll only be a few questions."

"Okay, sure." Emmy nodded.

"Any preexisting medical conditions?" Emmy shook her head. Sycamore pretended to tick something on the blank piece of paper on his clipboard.

"Marital status?"

"Huh? Single..." Emmy muttered.

"Is there a possibility that you're pregnant?"

"What? No." The girl started flushing red as the questions went on, but Sycamore kept emotionless eye contact between glances at his paper.

"Are you taking oral contraceptives?"

"...Yes..."

"Are you sexually active?" 

"What kind of questions _are_ these!?" Emmy nearly yelled as she stood in front of his desk.

"It all relates to healthcare and insurance. Would you need a partner to be covered, should I make sure you don't hurt a possible child through manual labor, et cetera." Sycamore replied calmly. "These are all standard questions. You _have_ had jobs before this one, haven't you Miss Altava?" He looked up at her over his glasses.

"Of course." Emmy lied through her teeth.

"I figured. Then you should be familiar with these types of forms..."

"Yes... I must've just forgotten, or maybe the jobs didn't provide insurance."

Sycamore smirked at her answers. He correctly deduced the girl had grown up within Targent without needing to work anywhere else, so it was nearly effortless to bend the truth to get the information he needed out of her.

"That's quite all right." Sycamore pulled out a drawer and shoved his clipboard inside. "I don't have any more questions for you anyway." He looked at her again. "I suppose you'd like to start your work immediately. Take a seat." Emmy looked around the room.

"There aren't any other chairs in here." She responded, her voice tinged with confusion. The man smirked again and headed towards the door.

"Just sit on the table over there." Sycamore nodded at another desk, pressed flush against the wall between two bookcases. "Move things out of the way, if necessary." Emmy went over and sat on top of the table while Sycamore locked the door to the study. He sauntered over to her, giving himself time to talk.

"Miss Altava. You know I am but a humble researcher, yes?" Emmy nodded. "Well, one would think this job is quite simple. I study. I read. I write." Sycamore continued to pace back and forth in front of the girl, hands behind his back. "And yet, this occupation becomes increasingly stressful. Do you know why that is?" He stopped, looking at Emmy out of the corner of his eyes. The girl shook her head. "This is technically top secret, but I've found myself to be a common target of Targent, a terrorist group." Emmy held back a flinch.

_We aren't terrorists!_

"Time and time again, they interrupt my research." Sycamore began slowing to the point that he would punctuate each sentence with a footstep. "Attempt to steal my findings. Destroy dig sites. And worse." He spun on his heel to look at her. "I assume you can see the amount of stress I find myself under?" Emmy nodded again. "And that is where _you_ come in." He looked at her expectantly.

"You... want me to help you take down Targent?" Emmy ventured a guess. Sycamore laughed bitterly at her response.

"Heavens no." The man walked closer until he was inches away from her face. "You, my dear," he leaned in, grabbing her chin in his hand, "are my _stress relief._ "

Before Emmy could even register what he said, Sycamore yanked her coat up and her leggings down. He took a moment to take in the sight of her matching grey bra and panties, rubbing his hands down her stomach. Emmy's eyes shot open, mouth agape. Sycamore took off his glasses and placed them on the desk.

"I'm guessing based on your previous responses that you are a virgin, are you not?" Realization hit Emmy like a ton of bricks.

"Hang on! Wh-what is this!?" Emmy yelled.

"Miss Altava, this is your _job._ This is the only work I have available for you." Sycamore reached a hand over to search for lube and condoms from within one of the desk drawers. "I'll go easy on you since it's your first time, but after that it will be _your_ responsibility to be prepared at a moment's notice."

"Stop! Y-You can't do this!" Emmy stammered. "You won't get away with this!" Sycamore put his supplies to the side and held her hands above her head in an iron grip.

"Who are you going to call, the police?" The man asked mockingly. No, as a member of Targent, it would be a bad idea to contact the police. Emmy said nothing. "You're free to quit, but I recall a certain young woman interrupting my work to _beg_ for this job she so desperately needed." He smirked as the girl looked away and gulped nervously. "A certain young woman, who said she would be willing do _'anything'._ "

Emmy's thoughts spun in her head. She couldn't contact the police; even if she wasn't in Targent, she knew how incompetent the Scotland Yard was. She couldn't call Uncle Leon; she'd disappoint him _and_ she'd be found out right away. Not to mention, they were now thousands of feet in the air. Emmy looked down, fell silent, and stopped resisting her fate. Nobody was around to save her.

"Good girl. Cooperation is key." Sycamore let go of her wrists, leaving a red mark in his wake. He pulled her bra and panties down far enough to reveal all of her sensitive spots. "Who knows, you might even find that you enjoy this." At that, Emmy scrunched up her face in disgust and violently shook her head. The man shrugged. "Suit yourself." Sycamore unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants down, his half-hard cock springing out. Emmy looked at it out of the corner of her eye, its size adding to her uneasiness.

"That's funny," Emmy muttered mostly to herself, "based on your personality, I figured you were overcompensating for something." Sycamore's cool and confident demeanor broke for a microsecond, his face quickly twisting into one of rage before he recollected himself.

"You know, if I were in your position," Sycamore stared down at her, still taller even with the added height of the table under her, "I'd watch what I say." She didn't respond. The man slammed his hands onto the desk on either side of her. He was now close enough that Emmy could smell his cologne; sickly sweet and musky, it made her want to wretch.

"Say, have you even been kissed before?" Emmy's eyes darted back to make eye contact with him before she pursed her lips and leaning her head back as far away from his as possible. "No need to fret. I don't intend to steal your first kiss." He laughed in the face of her fearful stare. Sycamore whipped his hands up to grab her breasts, squishing the soft mounds, making plush skin ooze out from between his fingers. Emmy yelped at the feeling of his cold hands on her skin. "This is all but a monetary exchange for a service, no emotions involved." He squeezed harder to accentuate his point.

"Lucky me... You have a _fantastic_ figure." The man tweaked and pinched her nipples between his calloused fingertips, making her flinch. "Perfect size, perfect texture, perfect color... To think how close I was to turning down your offer!" Every time he complimented her, it made Emmy's stomach turn. She felt like she was going to be sick. The professor noticed her grimace.

"You're right, I'm wasting too much time." Sycamore grabbed the lube and condoms from off the desk again. "It's time for the main event." He ripped open a condom packet with his teeth and tossed the wrapper onto the floor, shoving the rubber onto himself. Squeezing a generous dollop of lube into one hand, he slathered his wrapped dick with it until it, along with his hand, was practically dripping. Sycamore crouched down to be eye-level with her pussy. Emmy was practically hyperventilating as she felt him spread her thighs apart.

"I told you I'd go easy on you this time." He spread her open with his fingers, rubbing the rest of the lube in and around her opening. "Consider this to be your training." Sycamore said before shoving his middle finger into her. Emmy squealed at the intrusion; she was no stranger to masturbating, but his fingers were so much bigger and longer than hers. The professor made a come-hither motion inside her, digging the tip of his finger into her g-spot. Emmy grunted, biting her lips shut to prevent the escape of any noises of discomfort that could be misinterpreted as moans. "You're already loosening up a bit... Good." Sycamore pulled out enough to add his index finger, then rammed both fingers back inside. He made scissoring motions inside her until he deemed the girl adequately prepared for the real thing. The man drew his fingers out and repositioned himself, aiming the head of his cock towards her slit.

"No... Please, stop..." Emmy gathered the courage to quietly plead. Sycamore ignored her. He'd given her a chance to quit, so this was her own fault now for all he cared. Plus, the quiet cries she tried to muffle only turned him on more. This wasn't the man's official plan for revenge; his overarching scheme was much more complex and painstaking. Though, he wasn't going to turn down to hurt someone near and dear to Bronev, especially when he could pleasure himself in the process. Two birds, one stone.

Sycamore let out a low groan as he plunged himself inside, trying to stay quiet so he could hear the noises Emmy tried to hide from him. Even after fingering her and using lube, she was still so _tight._ If only she knew how arousing her terror was to him. Bronev had taken the lives of his wife and daughter, so it was only fair that Sycamore took his "niece's" womanhood. It didn't even come close to an equivalent exchange, but he'd take what he could get.

The man rammed hard and fast, relying on the lube to lower the risk of tearing and damaging his new toy. Unfortunately, Emmy's nerves made her clamp her entire body shut on impulse. The rough movements split her hymen regardless of how much lotion he'd used, making her screech in shock and pain.

"If you'd only relaxed yourself more," Sycamore huffed, "you wouldn't have hurt yourself." He scolded the girl, but truthfully he didn't care either way. The scarlet blood dripping out of her contrasted her fair skin beautifully, and her pained tears plastered stray hairs to her flushed cheeks. Emmy looked worn down and haggard, making pained grunts as her body shook from the movement, completely different from the chipper young woman that he'd met at the aerodrome this morning. It felt incredible to ravage her physically as well as mentally. Sycamore poured his hatred for Targent and Bronev into every thrust, taking everything out on his father's little girl.

It had been so, _so_ long since Sycamore had felt like this, or felt another woman at all. It took mere minutes before he exploded into the condom inside her, letting her fierce grip do the rest of the work and squeeze the last drops of cum out of him. Emmy could only pant as she felt him slow to a halt, the offending member inside her throbbing rhythmically as he released his seed. Sycamore waited until he simply slid out of her, trying to savor every moment.

"You're..." Emmy panted, locking tear-sodden eyes with him, "a monster..." Sycamore, also panting, shrugged and pulled up his pants.

"You're free to quit if you take issue with me." Emmy looked down again, considering his words.

 _I'm not free to quit. I need to get the documents. I need to do it for Uncle Leon._ Emmy shook her head and began redressing herself. She indignantly grabbed the pager, stood up off the table, and stumbled toward the door.

"I'll have Raymond fetch you some ice for that." Sycamore said with a bit of a smirk in his voice. "Dinner's at six o'clock sharp. Feel free to join us." Emmy stopped and looked over her shoulder to glare daggers into him before shuffling out the door as quickly as she could.

Luckily, Emmy's room was right across the hall. She slammed her door shut and flopped face-first onto her bed. Her crotch stung and ached, her wrists were beginning to bruise the smallest bit, and the entire situation made her feel like she was going to throw up. No, she would _not_ be going to dinner.

Emmy gingerly rolled onto her side, pressing her face into one of the pillows. It smelled as if it'd been in a closet for a long time, but still clean. She sighed to herself. All she could do was try to get data on the Azran civilization as soon as possible and immediately escape this needlessly cruel man.

 _"...you're the only one I can rely on..."_ Uncle Leon's words echoed in her mind, her only source of comfort.

_I won't let you down. I'll do it all for you._


	3. Today's Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmy's starting to really hate her job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: emeto/unsanitary

_Bzzzzzt bzzt bzzt bzzzzzt._

Emmy groaned at the all-too-familiar sound of the pager, making her nightstand vibrate unbearably loudly. She really didn't want to go see Sycamore, even though she'd been left alone for two days now. The only contact she'd had with anyone was the trays of food quietly placed in front of her door at every mealtime. The first tray after the incident was accompanied by a cup of ice and pain relievers with a note that read, "If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. — Raymond." It made Emmy wonder how much the seemingly kind old man knew about her situation with the professor, and what he was making her do.

Even with the first aid supplies, the girl still stung with pain when she walked or sat the wrong way. Emmy dreaded her next assignment, especially because she was still in the process of healing. She couldn't even carry out her _actual_ assignment of searching the ship for Azran-related documents in this state.

Even so, the pager kept buzzing. She grabbed it in her fist and shakily trudged her way over to Sycamore's office across the hall. As she opened the door, Emmy saw Sycamore sitting at his desk, fiddling with some papers. At the sound of the door closing, he looked up and gave her an emotionless smile.

"I trust your room has been comfortable?" He asked. Emmy didn't humor his attempt at small talk, glaring at him with tired eyes. Sycamore smirked at her lack of response. "I suppose you want to get straight into work today. Very commendable." Emmy flinched at the mention, the thought of more "work" sending psychosomatic pains to her cut. The man noticed her expression at his statement. "You're still injured, aren't you?" The girl continued to say nothing, but glared more intensely. "No need to fear. I won't make you do anything to would aggravate it. I'm not so cruel as that." Sycamore chuckled. Emmy doubted his last statement, but stepped forward anyway, placing the long-silenced pager on his desk.

"What do you want me to do?" Emmy finally mumbled, looking down at her feet.

"Come over here." Sycamore motioned with his finger. Emmy dragged her feet over to his side behind his desk. She looked at him, still the smallest bit taller than her even though he was sitting down. Sycamore pushed himself backward in his chair to leave a space under the desk. "Under here." Emmy's heart sank, even though deep down she knew the chance of her being assigned normal assistant work was slim to none. She got down on all fours to crawl under the desk. Sycamore tucked his chair back in, effectively trapping her between his legs. Once situated, she turned back to face him only to be met with an imposing tent in his pants, already damp at the tip.

"Go on." Sycamore watched and waited for the girl to make a move before spelling it out for her. "Take my trousers off." Emmy sighed in defeat and undid his belt before slowly pulling his pants and briefs down. His cock sprang out, almost startling her. Emmy had thought it looked big before, but seeing it so close made it look even more threatening; nothing had even taken place, and yet the veins were throbbing menacingly and the tip oozed with precum.

"In awe, are you?" Sycamore chuckled darkly, watching the girl frozen in place as she stared at his penis. "I'd love to let you look at your leisure, but I'm feeling rather impatient today." He quickly grabbed his cock and rubbed it roughly against her cheeks, making the assistant snap out of it. The man smeared his precum up and down the sides of Emmy's face, slathering her with his fluids. "You have such soft skin." Sycamore complimented with a grunt, making the sick feeling in Emmy's stomach return in full force. The liquid felt disgustingly hot and sticky on her face, and stray strands of hair began to glue to her cheeks. Suddenly, he pulled it away again.

"Suck it." Sycamore ordered gravely, looking down at Emmy from his seat. Emmy darted her eyes away nervously, pausing before doing anything. "I said _suck it._ " The man sneered and crossed his legs around the back of the girl's shoulders, pulling her toward his member. Emmy was deep in his crotch now, her lips nearly touching his cock. Sycamore looked at her expectantly, so she reluctantly opened her mouth the tiniest bit. "Just don't use your teeth, or we'll have a problem!" He smirked before ramming his entire length into the girl's mouth.

" _Mmghph! Ghlrmph!_ " Emmy choked uncomfortably around his dick, feeling it hit the back of her throat. She tried to push herself off, but his legs locked her in place. Noticing her discomfort, Sycamore pulled back out of her mouth. Emmy struggled to catch her breath between coughs while the man talked down to her.

"Make up your mind, Miss Altava. Either you willingly suck me off or I face-fuck you. Which do you prefer?" Sycamore crossed his arms as he glared at her. Emmy didn't like either of those options, but she figured the lesser of two evils would be the option that allowed her to breathe.

Feeling sick with shame, she scooted forward to delicately hold the base between her fingers. She stuck her tongue out and closed her eyes as she made contact, tasting the tip, salty with precum. Shaking a bit, she took the entire head into her mouth, making Sycamore grunt above her. Emmy closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was sucking a popsicle or lollipop, something more pleasant than this vile man's penis, but the emanating heat and fleshy texture prevented her from successfully fooling herself.

"Go harder, _ngh,_ and use your tongue." Sycamore requested. Emmy wanted it to be over as quickly as possible, so she obliged, working her way farther down onto his length and massaging the underside with her tongue, rubbing it along an especially large vein. She intended to go at this pace the entire time, but her jaw was beginning to ache, so she sped up her pumps. Emmy bobbed her head back and forth as far as she comfortably could, making up for the length that wouldn't fit by rubbing it with her hand. She could feel the man's breath hitching and his body spasmodically twitching as he tried to hump deeper into her mouth.

The tight pit of heat at the bottom of Sycamore's stomach grew as his young assistant sucked on his manhood. Even though she was a bit inexperienced, her tight little mouth felt _incredible._ He tried to hold himself back, attempting to last as long as possible so the pleasure wouldn't have to end, but after several minutes of listening to Emmy slurping on his dick, he just couldn't hold himself back anymore. Sycamore leaned forward and grabbed his assistant's head, entangling his fingers in her wavy hair. He pulled her head forward, driving his cock in her to the hilt, before pulling all the way out and doing it again. The man groaned as he fucked the girl's face, getting her lips sloppy with drool and precum, making her gag and choke around him. It was indescribably erotic.

Emmy, on the other hand, wasn't having such a pleasurable time. The professor had suddenly began yanking on her hair and ramming his cock deep in her throat. She felt vaguely nauseous as the tip kept ghosting near her uvula, triggering her gag reflex a little more with every thrust. When he went all the way in, her nose was pressed into a bush of dark, auburn pubic hair, and his balls slapped her chin. Emmy was struggling to focus on too many things at once: getting oxygen to her brain, not using her teeth, not vomiting... Until, suddenly, she felt the man seize up.

"Take it, Miss Altava! _Mngh,_ swallow it all!" Sycamore spread his legs and shoved himself as deep as he physically could, swearing he could feel himself in the girl's esophagus. He held her head in place as he sprayed hot ropes of cum down the back of her throat. "Ohh..." The man let himself release inside of her, without a single care given to the girl's discomfort.

With her nose shoved into his pubes and a spurting cock in her throat, Emmy tried to breathe to no avail. She tried to inhale through her nose, only to accidentally worsen her own situation. Her ragged breath made her start coughing violently, rocketing his cum up her throat and out her nose. Semen and snot dripped from her nostrils, tears beaded in the corners of her eyes as she felt the foul substance burn inside her sinuses, and she was near vomiting, but Sycamore did nothing to help her. He only watched his beautiful doll fall apart with half-lidded eyes, keeping a firm hold on her scalp until he squeezed every drop out, aiming for her stomach.

After what felt like an eternity to Emmy, Sycamore released his grip and pushed her off of him. The girl hacked and coughed for air, but ended up vomiting onto the floor. She hadn't eaten anything that day, so it only consisted of the man's sperm. The vile fluid dripped from her nose and lips as she sat looking down at the floor on all fours under the desk. The sight and feeling of it all made her want to wretch again.

"Miss Altava." Sycamore slowly got up from his chair, pushed it to the side, and kneeled down on the floor next to her. Emmy didn't respond, staring blankly at the ground. The man pulled her dribbling chin up so she could face him as he spoke. "Do you remember what I said earlier?" The girl blinked at him absently, the light in her eyes completely extinguished, too out of it to keep her mouth completely closed. "I suppose not." Sycamore shook his head, disappointed in his assistant. "I said..." He grabbed her head and shoved it roughly into the floor, "To _swallow it all!_ "

A strange, garbled whine escaped Emmy's lips as she felt her face pressed into the revolting mixture of their fluids. It reeked of bile and semen, but against her body's better judgement, she started to lap up the mess. It tasted unbearably bitter and salty, and the bile added a rancid undertone. The slop was utterly vile, but Sycamore held her down until she licked the entire mess off his hardwood floor.

After several minutes of both Sycamore and Emmy herself forcing her mouth, she managed to swallow all of his semen. The man let her lift her head up again, but noticed she was still dripping from her nose and lips. Sycamore rubbed it onto his fingers and shoved them into her mouth until she licked them clean.

"Okay, let's see." Sycamore placed his fingers on either side of her mouth, forcing it open. He pulled her tongue out to confirm, but sure enough, Emmy had swallowed everything. "Good girl." He brushed her sweaty, sticky hair out of her face. "You really are worth every penny I spend on you." He laughed. "You're a novice, and yet you're naturally gifted... Like you were born to be my fuck-toy." Emmy didn't give any signal that she'd registered what he said, staring through him at nothing.

"All right. You're dismissed for the day." Sycamore patted her shoulder and got up to put his bottoms back on. Emmy shakily crawled out from under the desk and stood up, her legs numb from sitting on the ground for so long. She grabbed the side of the desk for support, picked up the pager on her way out, and limped awkwardly toward the bathroom nearest to her room.

Once in the bathroom, Emmy collapsed in front of the toilet and lifted the lid. She was prepared to shove her finger down her throat, but simply thinking of the events that had transpired was enough to make her wretch again. The girl hacked and coughed the contents of her stomach into the bowl until there was nothing left, soiling her face yet again. While avoiding looking at it, she flushed it down and stood up to wash the mess off her face and brush the taste off her teeth. Even after several washes and brushes, she still felt dirty.

Emmy considered taking a shower, but she wasn't sure she could stand up long enough with how numb she felt. Instead, she went back to her room to rest. She flopped unceremoniously onto her bed and almost started to fall asleep, when a gentle knock on the door disrupted her. The girl waited a few minutes for whoever it was to leave, then checked outside the door. Her usual tray held banana slices, a cup of applesauce, a bowl of chicken and rice soup, two pieces of toast, and a glass of ginger ale. Emmy recognized these as typical anti-nausea foods, and graciously took the tray into her room. As she picked at her food, the girl had to wonder why she would be forced to do horrible things only to be treated immediately afterward. It annoyed her; the professor could just choose to maybe _not_ make her do the things that made her ill in the first place. Now not only did she have a painful cut, but her throat and sinuses burned as well. Emmy sighed and took a bite of toast. She'd have to put off her mission yet another day. 


End file.
